


Thrust of Grace

by Mazarin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post - The Great Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"One minute you're waiting for the sky to fall, next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all." Post - The Great Game ficlet.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrust of Grace

_Don’t the hours grow shorter as the days go by?  
We never get to stop and open our eyes.  
One minute you’re waiting for the sky to fall,  
Next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all._

The soft whisper of sheets against skin wakes him much too early given the night before. He turns to the man beside him, basking in the early morning sun streaming through unfamiliar windows. The golden light kisses the tips of mussed black curls, highlighting, giving his lover an almost ethereal glow. He places a hand on that glorious crown gently, careful not to disturb his well-earned slumber, and savors one last minute of peace.

 _These fragile bodies of touch and taste,  
This fragrant skin, this hair like lace,  
Spirit’s open to a thrust of grace  
Never a breath you can afford to waste._

Ten minutes after the bomb explodes, Mycrof has them retrieved and in the back of a van, speeding toward a safehouse. Why the hell he couldn’t have shown up 15 minutes earlier, John cannot fathom. He brushes plaster dust from his hair and shoulders, and looks up to catch Sherlock staring at him with an unfathomable expression. He stares back, seconds stretching to minutes until John reaches out a hand and places it tentatively on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“We’re still here.”

“Yes, but…I see how quickly that could change. I’m sorry, John.”

“You should be.”

The car drops them off at a nondescript flat somewhere near Croydon. Sherlock, amazingly, pulls out a set of keys and leads him upstairs.

The door slams, and before John can do more than sweep his eyes around the room (grey, grey, grey, how utterly depressing), Sherlock is on him, hands around the sides of his head and kissing him as if it were the only thing he has left to hold on to. John’s exclamation of surprise is swallowed by a moan, and he feels his torn jumper being pulled up his chest and over his head. He responds in kind, stripping a dark suit jacket and shirt from a lean frame, kissing the darkening bruise over a clavicle, tasting sweat and pool chlorine and dust.

“Shower.”

They stand together under the steaming water, wrapped in each other, kissing , touching, cataloging each other’s bodies. John reaches down to stroke Sherlock, fingers twisting, grasping, heightening the pleasure until he comes, gasping, clinging to John’s body. Sherlock’s slicked-down hair and heavy-lidded eyes might just be the most beautiful thing John’s ever seen, and if it’s the only time he’s granted this privilege, the image of Sherlock wet and naked, intense and vulnerable, will be enough to last his entire life.

However long he has left.

 

 _When you’re lovers in a dangerous time  
Sometimes you’re made to think your love’s a crime.  
Nothing worth having comes without some kind of price  
Got to kick at the darkness ‘till it bleeds daylight._

Sherlock stirs under John’s hand, opening his eyes slowly to the morning light. His eyelashes flutter for a moment until the full force of reality seems to hit him all at once, and he’s instantly awake.

“It’s alright,” John murmurs, stroking his hair. “Mycroft texted; we’re secure.”

Sherlock levers himself onto one elbow and studies John intently.

“I will stop him.”

“Yes, I know you will.”

“I must move forward. I cannot stay here.”

“Yes.” John reaches out and traces the now dark, blue-black bruise his lips caressed the night before.

“I will come back, you must know – “ Sherlock looks desperate, trying his damndest to be convincing.

John nods, once. “And I also know you’re insane if you think I would let you face this alone.”

Sherlock lets out a disbelieving huff, but in studying John’s serious face, his expression shifts, a grin beginning at the corner of his mouth, growing until he’s beaming. John grins back, joy unfurling in his chest at the prospect of a battle joined.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by The Barenaked Ladies


End file.
